


Music of Light

by whatthedruidscallme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Modern, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-26 11:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedruidscallme/pseuds/whatthedruidscallme
Summary: Something is waking up.Sunlight yields to an unseen darkness that shifts in Merlin's very bones. Blackness lingers at the edge of his subconscious and when Arthur Pendragon breathes for the first time in countless years, Merlin is again torn between the bright young servant desperate to protect his prince and Emrys, the powerful sorcerer whose destiny spans lifetimes. Darkness is growing in the hidden crevices of Albion and the question is not defeating it but rather if,  with both sides of the coin at last reunited, Merlin can find it in himself to look for it at all.





	1. Resonance

White clouds scudded across a sky tinged the colour of wine. The water was grey, lapping at a tired shore and the sun was failing, leaves of light folding into themselves, knowing they would live again the next day. A phoenix breathing in its own ashes.

                The old warlock sat and watched it all again, in the same chair, by the same water. His unlined hands tapped restlessly against the edge of the chair. His bright eyes drank in the same sight.

                For a brief moment, rich golden light shone on a young face and he turned away, blinking. His hands stilled against his chair. Dust motes danced in the air.  And then it was gone, he turned back and dusk had crumbled into night, and his hands tapped on the chair, and he waited.

                Waiting.

 

 

The library built directly in the middle of bustling downtown was almost entirely made of glass. It had five stories, four winding staircases, no elevators, it was open from dawn until after dusk, and it was always busy.

The first floor was a small café, with poufs and chairs and tables where people could wander in and sit down. The second floor had an auditorium where lectures were taught. The third floor was dedicated to non-fiction, and the top two to fiction.

The same young man worked there every day, and had for as long as anyone who bothered to try could remember. Sometimes he gave lectures when the auditorium wasn’t booked, usually on the myths of Camelot, but he had ready answers waiting for anyone who questioned him about any time period. His thin face, slight frame and high cheekbones gave him the appearance of someone much younger than the twenty-six he claimed to be.  No one really knew much about him, other than his knowledge of Camelot was prompted by being named after the ancient sorcerer depicted in those legends, and no one ever asked him any questions about it. But he still worked there every day with distant eyes and a reserved manner, and if any one of the many regular customers saw his blue eyes glow with fire for a split second, they assumed it was a trick of the light.

November was a strangely still month that year, devoid of the usual bluster and screaming wind that accompanied it, instead, milky white skies and grey clouds stole softly in from October. The young man who worked at the library couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it was holding its breath, that everything was waiting for something. The very air was tense and quiet, and every breath seemed to be pressed upon by some unseen presence.

It was one of these quiet days when he gave a lecture on the courtiers of Camelot to a half-empty theatre, only to be cornered and asked point-blank about sorcery in Camelot afterwards.

“Sorcery?” he said in mild surprise. He adjusted his sweater, ignoring the sudden burst of nerves that whispered for him to hide.

“I know it’s a weird question but I’ve never heard you speak about it, is there any way you can tell me anything about it? What their perception of it was, I mean. If you know about it, professor, um...Emrys.” The girl was wide-eyed and clearly nervous, shifting the books in her arms from side to side and tapping her foot against the stage.

_Tap tap tap._

                “Merlin,” he corrected, smiling blandly.

                _Tap tap tap._ “Sorry.”

                “Magic was banned in Camelot. Anyone who studied it, witnessed it, kept relics of it, or displayed any knowledge of it was ruthlessly executed.”

                _Tap._

                “So the king at the time executed people for knowledge of something that was never real to begin with?”

                “How do you know magic was never real?” Merlin asked, turning around and collecting his papers.

                _Tap tap tap._ Quicker now.

                “Well—it’s magic,” the girl answered, clearly struggling with his answer. “You’re saying people were murdered for tricks and delusions.”

                “No, I’m saying people were executed for doing magic.”

                “Okay...so magic is what, then? Sleight of hand at a card game? More than that?” 

                Merlin sighed. “Magic was banned in Camelot because the king at the time thought of it as something inherently evil. Like it would twist and corrupt anyone who used it because it couldn’t be a force for good. He was, of course, wrong. Whether magic was real or not, it is how you use such a gift that matters, not what it is.”

                “Okay,” the girl said, looking marginally happier. “Thank you.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                The girl smiled and Merlin made as though to walk away before the girl spoke again. “Sorry, Merlin, just one more thing—who was the king that banned magic again?”

                Merlin stopped in his tracks, his breath oddly constricted. His eyes closed briefly. “Uther,” he said finally. “His name was Uther Pendragon.” 

                “Thanks!”

                _Tap tap tap._ Quieter, quieter as the girl walked away. A slice of light as the door opened, the creak as it shut, and Merlin was left alone in an echoing auditorium.

 

                He didn’t go to the water that night. Instead he stayed home, committing the sunset to memory from the window in the kitchen. The city below him was alive and thriving, the sounds of cars squealing and pedestrians shouting drifting up from the street, and it didn’t sound like home. There was no crackle of the fire. No bright eyes grinning at him from across the room. No clink of spoons against a wooden bowl.

                Merlin drew in a deep breath and shook his head, trying to stop the memories from playing in front of his eyes, like a shattered photograph he was still turning over in his fingers. He wondered how it could still be there, how he still knew Gwen’s favourite dress she wore while she waited on Morgana, exactly how many white shirts Arthur had in his drawer, Gaius’s favourite pudding. Even Uther’s expression when they had found him, bald, because of the goblin Merlin had accidentally set free.

                Merlin snickered at the thought, which grew to a chuckle, until peals of laughter were ringing through the empty apartment over a long-dead king, and he wondered what Arthur would have thought if he could’ve known that his father’s baldness and his own donkey ears were entirely his servant’s fault.

                The sun had sunk behind the horizon when he looked back again. _‘Liote,’_ Merlin murmured, not bothering to get off the counter he was sitting on, and his eyes glimmered yellow as the lights flickered to life in his apartment.

                What he wouldn’t give to go back, just for a few minutes. To hear Gaius yelling at him for doing something recklessly stupid that he had gotten away with, or tease Gwen about kissing him...hear Arthur yelling his name across the castle...

                Merlin’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned his head back against the cupboard. He could almost hear him...could almost feel the roughly hewn stone beneath his feet...

               

                Merlin jerked awake, gasping and disoriented. The apartment was filled with hard, sparkling sunlight, bright and unyielding, and it took a moment before Merlin’s brain caught up to the rest of him. He swore loudly, an impressive stream of filth that would have Gaius trying his best not to laugh, and immediately tore off to his room. He threw on the first pair of jeans he saw, yanked on a sweater and slung his bag over his shoulder before he was running out the door onto the sidewalk. 

                Still cursing fluently under his breath, he took off running towards the library. He blew past everyone on the street, interrupting himself to shout apologies at any passerby that happened to get in his way, his bag slapping against his hip with every step, only to halt dead in his tracks twelve steps away from the library.

                Merlin’s mind screeched to a stop. The bag slipped from his grasp to the ground. Shudders rippled down his spine. The adrenaline that had driven him from home to work had vanished completely, leaving a hollow weight in his stomach like lead, and it felt like his feet were glued to the sidewalk.

                Fifteen steps away, amid the crowd of people bustling to get to their own destinations, was Arthur.

                Merlin’s mind ground into gear again and suddenly he was running faster than he had in a thousand years, the bag was forgotten, he pushed past everyone, and he was only a few more steps away, he was right there—

                “Arthur!” Merlin shouted, but he couldn’t hear him and, breathing hard, Merlin sped up, his brain a reincarnation of the sunlight that filled the air because he was here, he was back, please God, let it be him, please, and finally he was there, and Merlin grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him backwards.

                The man sputtered and pushed Merlin away, bewildered. Merlin stared at him, unwilling to realize what he was seeing, that his eyes were the wrong colour and his nose was too crooked, and the way he was looking at Merlin was in no way how Arthur ever did.

                “What the hell is going on?” he said, and words bubbled up to Merlin’s tongue only for them to fade. He could only stare, his hand slipping from the man’s shoulder.

                His brow was creased in concern now rather than anger and he took hold of Merlin’s arm. “Are you alright, man?”

                “I—” Merlin took a step back.

                “Do you need help?”

                “I—no—”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Arthur,” was the only thing Merlin could say. “I thought—I thought he was—”

                The man glanced around, clearly wondering what to do. His hand was still on Merlin’s arm. “You’re looking for someone named Arthur?”

                Merlin swallowed and his mind seemed to finally clear. “I—I was, yes.”

                “My name’s Luke,” the man offered. “Can I help you find him?”

                Merlin tilted his head, and Luke’s hand fell from his arm. “I wish you could, Luke,” he said with difficulty. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

                He took another couple steps back, still staring at Luke—probably the closest he would ever get to Arthur again—and disappeared back into to the crowd.

                The world was going in and out of focus, the equivalent of a badly tuned radio. Everything that had just happened was water running through Merlin's mind, the hope that had leapt up from his heart like it had been lying in wait for those many years had dried up the moment the stranger faced him.

                He had been so close. The closest he had felt in a couple of centuries at least, and no doubt it was the result of the reminiscing he had been victim of the night before. Everything about his old life had been bubbling too close to the surface lately, and it was his own fault. Giving those lectures about Camelot...what was he thinking? What had he hoped he would achieve? Had he thought he would bring Arthur back through sheer force of will?

                Merlin kicked the sidewalk, walking past the library without a second glance. He needed something else to do. Something that wasn’t related to Arthur or Camelot or anything else that vaguely reminded him of his old life. Some new memory he could rely on. He’d been in this place before, but he’d always found different roots to put down, and this emptiness never lasted forever.

                After spending the day angrily pacing around his apartment, shouting ancient incantations that had books flying around the room and his cat, Myron, running for his life, Merlin had calmed down. He ate dinner without tasting what it was. He washed the dishes mechanically, dried them, put them away, and sat down in his armchair with his legs drawn up to his chest. Myron padded cautiously up to him, leaping onto the back of the armchair and curling up. Merlin’s eyes were distant, still muttering incantations, but they had no effect on anything he could see. It grew darker, until the only thing that could be seen was the gold washing over his blue eyes every so often, and they flickered and moved as though following something invisible. Myron, long since used to this behaviour, purred contentedly.

                The night grew old as, in his mind’s eye, a prince smiled at his servant and laughed. A maid who became a queen looked at him with steady eyes. A king stared through him with cruelty etched in his face, condemning his people to death and an old sorcerer pulled vials out of a cupboard, squinting at their bright contents. The last man who could speak to dragons told him he was born of the very fabric of reality. A cursed girl with tears spilling over her cheeks tilted her head, holding out her hand, beckoning him closer. Her lips were soft. Voices whispered his name and a woman made of cracked stone, held together by hatred for the man she once called a father, shrieked for his death.

              The old warlock passed the watches of the night alone. His bright eyes drank in the same sight, his unlined hands tapped on his chair, and all the while his ghosts shifted around him. Phoenixes waiting to be born again. Sunsets, waiting for dawn.  


  



	2. Stretto

“Hey, Emrys! You doing alright?”

                Merlin’s grip slackened on the classic literature books in his hands, and they fell to the floor with a solid thud. The girl walking towards him laughed.

                “You always scare so easy.”

                “I know,” Merlin said wryly, bending down and collecting Jane Austen’s works back into his arms. “How’re you, Reyna?”

                The girl, Reyna, stood with her head tilted at him. There was a curious expression on her face, partly hidden by strands of brilliant red hair falling across her face. “I’m good.”

                “What’s with the sour look?”

                “Nothing,” Reyna said, shaking her hair back from her face. “I’m just bored. The library’s empty.”

                Merlin stood up, clear eyes glancing to Reyna and towards the window. Rain was pouring in clean sheets, streaking down the window and making the world outside look surreal, an oil painting saturated with colour.

                “Maybe the hail might have something to do with it,” Merlin suggested, the thinnest current of sarcasm running in his voice, but Reyna still caught it. She threw him a dirty look and Merlin snickered.

                “Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

                “Don’t act like one,” Merlin replied automatically, his feet shifting. “Did you want something or...”

                “Yeah, actually. Me and Newt and a couple others are headed out to the bar tonight, you want to come with?”

                Her shining eyes dimmed as she followed his reluctance, the sigh that escaped his mouth. Merlin bit his lip and had already half-finished fabricating an excuse when a voice that sounded remarkably like Kilgharrah’s spoke in his mind.

                _Restless._

Merlin blinked. For a brief moment the world receded, leaving nothing but an ache in his chest and the white noise of the rain thrumming in time with his heart.

                _You wanted a way out,_ Kilgharrah said sensibly. _This will not hurt more than it will help. Perhaps broadening your horizons will lend you some peace._

 _Broadening my horizons,_ Merlin thought bitterly. _Like I don’t already know everything there is to know about this world._

                _Except a normal social interaction_ , Kilgharrah snapped. _Go, young warlock. It will do you good._

                _I’m not young either, if it comes to that,_ Merlin thought, but there was no reply. Slowly, the world seemed to come back into focus, and he manufactured a smile with difficulty.

                “Sure,” he said hesitantly.

                Reyna’s eyes lit up. “Awesome! There’s one about twenty minutes away that’s really nice, Elaine always talks about it. Avalon something. I’ll see you there at around ten?”

                Merlin nodded silently, quashing the spark of recognition underneath a carefully neutral expression. “That’s the one by the lake, right?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

                Reyna grinned and walked away, her bright hair dancing gracefully down her back.

                Merlin spent the rest of the day in a fierce argument against himself, constantly tripping between needing to get out of it and telling himself to strap on a pair. The library stayed eerily empty save a few dedicated readers and researchers, and he was regretfully free to agonize over his decision in peace. The rain grew more insistent as the hours wore on, and Merlin hoped against hope for the weather to be his way out but Newt grinned and winked and said, “See you tonight,” every time he sauntered by, which left Merlin to return the sentiment as weakly as he could.

                Despite Merlin’s multiple bargains and increasing desperation, the clock inexorably reached nine, and he left the library with his jacket held up against the rain. His efforts came to no good and Merlin was thoroughly wet by the time he reached his apartment, dripping onto a disapproving Myron.

He groaned and shut the door behind him, running his hands through his wet hair and staring down at his cat, whose tail was held high with indignation. The usual rush of relief that accompanied finally being alone in his own home was running through him now, relaxing his muscles and prompting him to wonder, again, what could have possibly made him agree to going out later. “What was I thinking, Myron,” he mumbled. “I have no business going out.”

                Myron stared back at him.

                “You’d prefer me home, right? Some company? I can still cancel,” he offered, but Myron turned and picked through the puddles like a long-suffering queen, and Merlin frowned after him. “Fine. I don’t need you either.”

                Myron made no reply.

                Still grumbling, Merlin made his way into his bedroom, furiously rubbing his hair with a towel and simultaneously using magic to dry off. Time was ticking on much faster than he would’ve liked. By the time he had put on a pair of jeans that fit him marginally better and a black jacket that made him look like he could conceivably be from this century, it was already time to leave. Merlin ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of hopelessness, admitted to himself that it wasn’t going to get any better, and stuck his tongue out at Myron on his way out the door.

                Every cell in his body was now pulling at his brain, shouting at him to go back inside, that he would be wrong-footed and awkward and he didn’t need new memories anyway, he had enough of the old ones to sink a ship.

                Merlin resolutely hailed a cab and resisted the urge to tell the cabbie to turn back, that he’d made a mistake, and made it all the way to the bar parking lot before feeling as though he was going to be sick. He nodded at the cabbie, handed over a few bills, and—miracle of miracles—did _not_ throw up as he walked from the parking lot to the door. Three calming breaths later and he was inside.  

                The bar was small and loud and smelled almost exactly the same as it had a thousand years ago, of alcohol and sweat and scraps of food.  The lights were dim. Yellow lights glinting on wooden tables and slick floors. Merlin’s eyes darted from table to table, looking for Reyna and wondering what on earth he would do if she wasn’t there yet and finally caught sight of her waving enthusiastically from the back of the bar.

                “Hey, Emrys, you made it!”

                Merlin merely nodded and picked his way towards her, grasping madly for any social skills he had left. “You look nice,” he finally said, which wasn’t true, she was flushed red from dancing and hair was sticking to her forehead, and something dark had spilled down her front. She raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze sliding up his body.

                “You look hot,” she said, almost surprised, and Merlin choked back a laugh as he sat down opposite her. “Where’s everyone else?”

                “Newt and Matthias are dancing. Hestia’s getting a drink and I think Eliza’s in the bathroom.”

                “Eliza?” Merlin asked, momentarily diverted from his rather unkind assessment of Newt’s dancing skills. “Who’s that?”

                “My friend. She’s deaf, by the way, but she can read lips alright. That’s her, over there—no, not her, to the left. _My_ left. Yeah, her.”

                A girl with short dark hair who looked about as excited to be there as Merlin felt was gingerly making her way towards them. She nodded at Merlin as she sat down, her dark eyes flicking back and forth between him and Reyna.

                “This is Merlin,” Reyna said, and Eliza smiled weakly. “Merlin, this is Eliza.”

                _Hello,_ Merlin signed. _Nice to meet you. Reyna said you’re a friend of hers?_

Beside him, Reyna made a small choked-off sound and Eliza looked at him, the tension in her shoulders relaxing just by the slightest measure.

                _Yeah,_ she signed. _You work at the library?_

 _Yes._ A wry smile touched the corners of Merlin’s mouth. _Reyna managed to drag me out here. I assume the same thing happened to you._

                Eliza simply nodded, and her hands fell back into her lap. Merlin looked awkwardly away, his eyes catching on Reyna as she stared at him.

                “You never told me you could sign.”

                Merlin shrugged. “Never came up.”

                Just then a particularly loud peal of thunder cracked against the sky, making half the bar jump and look nervously out the window. Automatically, Merlin followed their gaze, and his eyes widened in shock.

                In the half hour he had been at the bar, what had been a downpouring of rain had erupted into a full-fledged thunderstorm. Menacing clouds hung in the black sky like bruises, obliterating the stars. Lightning split blinding white fissures through the atmosphere for seconds at a time. Wind shrieked freakishly, rattling the windowpanes, and as he watched the hail spatter against the pavement another roll of thunder burst against his eardrums.

                “Jesus,” Merlin breathed. “You know, Reyna, this is why you don’t ignore the forecast.” He turned to see Eliza watching him with wide eyes; clearly she didn’t understand what was going on.

                _Thunder,_ he signed swiftly. _The storm is worse than we thought it would be._ She nodded.

Reyna shook her head, momentarily amazed. “This wasn’t on the radar. It just said rain, not a goddamn hurricane.”

                “Yeah. Well, you enjoy yourself. I wish Matthias luck, tell Hestia I said hi, and tell Newt that I wish I’d never seen him dance.”

                “What—you’re leaving?”

                Merlin scoffed, already slipping his jacket back on. “Excuse me for not wanting to walk home at one in the morning in this.”

                “The rest of them are staying.”

                “Well—they’re thick, aren’t they?”

                Reyna’s mouth tightened. “ _I’m_ staying.”

                “There you are then,” Merlin muttered, and flashed her a grin. “See you later.”

                He signed a quick goodbye to Eliza, who didn’t seem to want to answer, and had narrowly missed tripping on his own chair when the lights flickered and went out. A few people gasped, someone hit the floor with a solid clunk, and the tinkle of shattering glass seemed to indicate dropped drinks.

                “Great,” Merlin said into the darkness. “Just great.”

                Suddenly something was clutching at his arm so hard he was losing blood flow, and Merlin jumped and swore before turning around to see Eliza’s hand around his wrist. Her eyes were wide, clearly searching for his.

                “It’s alright,” Merlin said automatically, only to remember she couldn’t hear him. Phone flashlights were coming to life, illuminating relieved faces. Merlin tapped on her hand and then on his own, and her grip slackened.

 _It’s alright. Just the lights, nothing else._ He smiled at her and her hand slipped off of his arm.

                _Sorry,_ she signed, her pale face regaining some colour. Merlin shook his head. He opened his mouth, forgetting again that Eliza was deaf, before lightning flashed again and thunder shrieked with an earth resounding _boom_ , and somewhere behind Merlin, someone screamed.

                Merlin’s head whipped around. The girl was shaking, her arm raised, pointing to the lake roiling just outside the window. Merlin watched her lips move in slow motion, the sound coming to his ears late as though he was lagging, _“someone’s out there.”_

                Merlin’s breath came in staccato bursts as he turned back towards the window, where lightning was branching across the sky. On the very edge of sight, cresting over a wave, was a limp body being carried towards the shore.

                “Dear God,” someone said, and Reyna moaned beside him. Merlin looked over at her, feeling as though he were dreaming. She had her hand clapped over her mouth so tightly her knuckles were white.

                “Stay here,” he said in a low voice, and her eyes swung towards him. Before she had a chance to respond Merlin was stumbling past her, running towards the window, he murmured a spell and the window shattered in front of him. He ignored the shrieks and gasps behind him and jumped while glass was still raining down on his head, and then it wasn’t glass at all but rain and hail tearing at his body, wind ripping through him but he was strangely numb to it all. The sense of recklessness that had always preceded risking his own neck to save Arthur’s was coursing through him now, Gaius was shouting at him in his head, telling him not to be so stupid and that he needed to take care of himself first but Kilgharrah was laughing, _laughing._

                Merlin was completely soaked through now. Hail was willfully aiming for him but he was still numb, the bruises that would no doubt show up didn’t matter, there was someone on the lake and he could save them, he could save them, he could save them...

                The lake was pushing and pulling and roaring and much, much louder up close but Merlin plunged into it without a second thought and it hit him like an electric shock, his lungs filled with icy water and he choked.

                _Honestly, Merlin. First the Arthur lookalike, and now jumping into a lake in the middle of a thunderstorm? What has gotten into you?_

                Gaius’s voice, mildly disapproving, was filling his mind again.

                _I had to, Gaius. There’s someone out there._

                His head broke the surface and he gasped, his eyes streaming. He windmilled wildly, fighting to keep above water, and another wave crashed into him.

                Merlin blinked, dazedly trying to get his bearings as the wave receded, and it was purely by chance that lightning lit up the sky at the exact moment a human body floated directly by him. Merlin choked again, sucking in air and grabbed for it, catching them by the arm. Barely able to think, his mind a dizzying explosion of euphoria and panic and adrenaline, he started for shore. The man was dead weight, clearly either dead or unconscious, and Merlin’s slight frame had never been more frustrating than it was right then. His eyes felt like they were bleeding out of his head and his bones felt as though they hollow, gradually infusing with lake water. Pure oxygen was the only gift he asked for and his lungs clutched at it gratefully. His heart was slamming against his chest so hard he was sure it was going to bruise his ribcage, he could hardly hear the roar of the storm, he was so close, shore was right there, his grip tightened on the body he was dragging with him—

                And then he was there, his feet were touching solid ground and with the utter last of his strength Merlin dragged the man from the last searching fingers of the lake and collapsed next to him, choking and coughing and spitting up water. He was shivering violently, colder than he had ever been in his life, but he was on shore. Merlin laughed, the sound hitching uncontrollably and coming out more like a sob.

                “M-made it,” Merlin stammered, trying for some sort of victorious feeling but completely unable to work up anything other than exhaustion. He turned his head, vaguely wondering why he had just risked his life, and locked onto a pair of blue eyes.

                “Merlin,” the man said weakly. His arm twitched. The barest ghost of a smile crossed his face before his hand relaxed, his eyes fluttered shut, and he didn’t move again.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating weekly. Chapter lengths are going to vary so I apologize for this one being so short, next week's is longer :) any feedback at all is hugely appreciated.


	3. Da Capo

_Breathe._

In, out.

In, out.

In, out.

He could still hear the roar of the lake.

_Breathe._

Water was dribbling from his clothes, his hair, the tips of his fingers. His blood was freezing inside his body.

_Breathe._

He couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

_Breathe._

His mind was made up of colours, grey and yellow and blue and white. He couldn’t think. He could only watch the colours. They bled into his brain, spilling into his vision and infecting his heart and trickling into his veins. Grey and yellow and blue and white.

Merlin blinked, lifting his head, sucking in a horrible, grating breath. It felt like glass sliding down his throat. The world came back into focus again. The lake. The black sky. Stars shining so brightly they cast dim shadows on the ground. The man lying beside him, breathing shallowly. He had blue eyes.

_Breathe._

Merlin coughed, spitting out more water, and sat up. His head was swimming. He felt around for the man’s hand and found it, brushing his fingers against a cold palm.

“Arthur,” he croaked stupidly, and then a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, the colours blinded him, and he collapsed with his hand still lying in another.

Grey and yellow and blue and white.

 

* * *

 

Merlin’s first impression was the warmth, growing slowly at the back of his mind like the rising sun. The softness of the blanket that covered him. The harsh mechanical beeping, which sped up the more aware he became. The ache, like every inch of his skin was bruised. The rawness scraping in his throat every time he inhaled.

When his eyes opened, they watered and stung at the bright white walls. Merlin blinked and a groan escaped his mouth, eyes straying from the walls to the heart monitor to the corridor outside, to the nurse taking his vitals right beside him.

“Ah, you’re up,” he said, not really looking at Merlin, who frowned.

“Arthur,” Merlin tried to say, but it came out as a sigh. He swallowed and tried again. “Where’s Arthur?”

The nurse finally glanced away from the monitor and smiled. “The guy you dragged back from the lake, you knew him?”

Merlin’s hands were twisting in the sheets now and he jerked his head.

“He’s doing well. He had an old wound in his abdomen that his adventure in the lake seems to have put stress on, but other than that, no real problems. You, on the other hand, did _not_ get off so easily. You have two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, a couple of deep gouges on your legs probably from the stones on the bottom of the lake, and you’re covered from head to toe in brui—what the hell are you doing?”

Merlin had sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, fighting the nausea that swelled up from his stomach. The sharp pain in his chest made sense now and he stifled a gasp.

“Absolutely not,” the nurse said, tugging him back into his bed. “You need to lie down.”

“I have to see Arthur,” Merlin insisted hoarsely. “Please.”

“You need _rest._ ”

“I’m going to see him,” Merlin said, still doing his best to stand without succumbing to a wave of light-headedness. The nurse chuckled and then sighed, looking at Merlin’s obstinate face. “If I take you to see him, will you go back to bed without a fight?” Merlin nodded, silently vowing that he wasn’t going back to bed even if Arthur was perfectly fine, and to hell with the nurse.

“Alright then, into the wheelchair. Let’s go. Just for a moment, mind.” The nurse—Gilbert, by his name tag—took Merlin by the arm and helped him into the chair, wincing with every sound that escaped him on the way down.

“So,” Gilbert said, wheeling him from his room, “how do you know this guy?”

Merlin fought down a ridiculous desire to laugh. “I—I haven’t seen him in a long time. We were friends in—in another life.”

“Oh,” Gilbert said sympathetically. “Bad breakup?”

“What?” Merlin said, his voice rising an octave in a single syllable. “I—no!”

“Sorry, just sounded like it. From the way you talk.”

“No,” Merlin repeated. “Nothing like that.”

The rest of the way there was silent. Merlin was twitching, his fingers tapping against the chair, his eyes automatically looking for Arthur whenever they turned a corner and when a blond man passed in front of them, Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin. The smell of the hospital was sharp and irritating, mixed with the horrible taste of the lake water he was sure he still had in the back of his mouth. The nurse was whistling, and between wondering where the hell Arthur’s room was and feeling terrified that it might not even be Arthur at all, Merlin was resisting the urge to turn around and strangle him.

“Okay,” Gilbert said suddenly, turning him into a room just off from the elevators. “There you are.”

Merlin leaned forward. His hand automatically stretched out as Gilbert wheeled him closer to the white bed. He swallowed, his mind spinning, and barely registered it when Gilbert said something he didn’t bother listening to and then left them alone.

He was still too far away, all he could see was a patch of blond hair and a chest rising and falling. Merlin stood up, doing his best to ignore the intense swell of dizziness and impatiently pushed the wheelchair away, which knocked against the wall. He clutched the IV pole and stumbled forward.

The man in the bed was breathing evenly, lying between a dream and reality. His eyes were moving underneath his eyelids. Merlin leaned over and gripped his shoulder, feeling a ripple go down his spine at the powerful feeling of warm flesh and blood and bone beneath his fingertips.

“Arthur,” he breathed, eyes searching over his face. “Arthur, please.”

The man in the bed groaned and shifted and for a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. If he had rescued a complete stranger the water and, in his exhausted state, mistaken him for the man Merlin most wanted to see. He had thought the man had whispered his name, right before he slipped into unconsciousness, but if he was wrong...

The man’s breathing sped up the slightest measure and his hand moved upwards to rest against Merlin’s over his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open.

Relief, euphoria, brilliant happiness, unwillingness to trust his own eyes, all of it flooded through Merlin, moving through his veins and tightening his throat and opening his lungs. He took in a gasp as cornflower blue eyes focused on him, and his hand squeezed Arthur’s shoulder.

“Arthur,” Merlin managed because it was all there, the wideset eyes, the straight nose and the full mouth and the hard jaw, the expression of familiarity that was washing over his face now as he grinned at Merlin.

“Hey,” he said weakly. Merlin laughed, feeling as though a balloon was trying to make its way out of his throat and float away. “Hi,” he finally said, releasing Arthur’s shoulder and catching his hand instead. Arthur propped himself up on his elbows— _my God, he’s moving, he’s breathing, he’s talking, Arthur—_ and stared at Merlin, the concerned line in his forehead Merlin knew so well creasing.

“You—Merlin, are you crying?”

“Oh—” Merlin wiped at his face, only now recognizing the tears sliding down his face and dripping onto the bed. Arthur’s gaze moved away from Merlin’s face and took in the room, his eyes widening fractionally.

 _“Where the hell am I?”_  Arthur said, bolting upright. He looked back at Merlin, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him closer. Merlin staggered forward, hissing at the sudden spike of pain in his chest. “Jesus—Arthur—you’re in a hospital—let me go!”

Arthur released him. “What?”

“Shit,” Merlin said, looking between the heart monitor, which was rising insistently and the nurses at the station, who were just beginning to notice. “Shit, Arthur, you’re in a hospital, it’s been over a thousand years since we last saw each other and please be careful, if they hear you insisting you’re from Camelot they will put you in the psych ward.”

“Psych ward?” Arthur said, eyes darting everywhere, his face reddening. “A _thousand_ years? I...where is everyone?”

“Asylum, they’ll put you in an asylum, please, please don’t say anything, just let me handle it Ar—”

Arthur snorted. “What is this, a trick? Where’s Gwen?”

“It’s not a trick. This is real,” Merlin said, forcing Arthur to focus on him. “This is real. It’s been a thousand years since you died at Camlann—”

_“Died?”_

“—And I’ve been waiting for you this entire time, and I’m not about to lose you because you start yelling about being king of Camelot—”

“I am the king of Camelot!” Arthur shouted, attempting to swing his legs over the edge with Merlin holding him down.  He pushed against Merlin’s chest, who winced violently as a red haze of pain clouded his vision.

“Oh, for the love of God,” he muttered and clapped his hand over Arthur’s mouth, breathing a swift word of magic and watching as Arthur’s eyes immediately rolled back in his head and slumped back into bed.  His chest was wracked with pain and he wrapped his arms around himself, fighting the urge to either vomit or pass out.

“What happened,” a nurse said, followed by two others hurrying into the room.

“He must have fainted,” Merlin said as noncommittally as he could, stepping back. “Just distressed, I imagine.”

One of the nurses looked at him with an eye like a crow, scanning him up and down. “You should be in bed yourself. You look to be in a worse state than he is.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin said, just before his knees gave out and he collapsed onto Arthur. 

 

The next time Merlin woke it was not the slow, comfortable awakening he had experienced before. Instead he was jolted back to life by a particularly aggressive sneeze coming from the chair next to him.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open and he tried to sit upright, immediately remembering that it felt like his chest was a puzzle missing a few pieces. “Ah—fuck,” he swore, and turned to his side to see a miserable redhead sitting next to him. A frown creased his forehead. “Reyna?”

She nodded, twisting her fingers together. “Hi, Merlin.”

“What’re you doing here?” he said, propping himself up on his elbows.

She looked a mess—her hair was tangled and greasy, there were dark circles carved under her eyes and her clothes were dirty. Merlin took it all in, bewildered.

“Just came to see you,” she said, trying to smile and doing a horrible impression of it.

“I’m fine, Reyna.”

“Yeah, that’s what they told me you said right before you passed out on another patient,” she fired back, standing up as though her anger had pushed her to do it. Merlin refrained from rolling his eyes with great difficulty and managed to sit up on his own, ignoring Reyna’s squawk of disapproval.

“Where is he? Arthur?”

“You could’ve died out there,” Reyna said, her voice quavering. Her eyes were too bright.

“I don’t think so,” Merlin said dismissively. “Where’s Arthur?”

“Merlin, can you just sit back for a minute? You saved someone’s life last night. You can relax now. It’s okay.” She came closer, sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and Merlin sighed. “It’s really not a big deal. The patient that I—fell on, Reyna. Just tell me if he’s alright, for my own sanity.”

“Honestly, Merlin. I’m fine.”

The familiar, exasperated voice came from the door and Merlin lurched upwards, heart monitor soaring again. Reyna jumped and turned around to where Arthur had pasted a horrible grin on his face, instead doing a marvelous impression of the goblin Merlin had once set loose.

“Oh—hello,” Reyna said, and Merlin knew without looking at her that she was blushing.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, eyes fastened on him. Arthur waited with a raised eyebrow, fingernails drumming on the door, but after a moment it transpired that he had nothing else to say.  

Arthur nodded uncomfortably at Reyna and looked back at Merlin, who was still staring at him. 

“Um—Reyna, I’m sorry, can you give us a minute?”

Reyna nodded and hurried out of the room, looking as though she was desperate to stay and couldn’t wait to leave. Arthur watched her go and then came to sit next to Merlin, moving uncomfortably in the stiff chair.

“I miss the throne,” Arthur muttered and then, with an incredibly shifty look from side to side, leaned closer to Merlin. “Alright,” he whispered. “Tell me what’s really going on. What is this? Is this—” he swallowed, “magic? Is everyone else hiding somewhere?”

“No,” Merlin said softly. He resisted the urge to tilt in closer, just to better hear the voice that was so vivid, so much clearer than what he had imagined for so long.  “This is real. I’m sorry. You—you’ve been gone a long time.”

He watched as Arthur sat back, his eyes flickering. “I don’t understand.”

“Right now you don’t have to. I’ll explain everything once we’re back home—back at my place, you just have to help me get out of here.” Merlin trembled as he pushed himself closer to the edge, feet touching the cold tile again. “Hand me my clothes.”

“I’m the king, Merlin. You don’t tell me what to do, it’s the other way around,” Arthur said, in that complacent manner that usually meant he was kidding, but right now Merlin had no patience for it.

“Just give them to me,” he snapped. “And don’t talk about being king until we’re out of here, just—no, Arthur, don’t bother looking for my scarf, it’s not here. And the shoes are—yeah, I know they’re not boots, they’re sneakers, I—thanks.” Merlin got up, swayed for an inopportune moment, and grabbed the jeans from Arthur’s hand. He stared as Merlin tugged them on and then pulled the hospital gown over his head and replaced it with a sweater.

“Okay,” Merlin said, his breath coming in short pants from the exertion, “you don’t have any clothes, so you’re going to replace it with my jacket, just put it on over top—yeah—it’s exactly like that brown coat you used to wear, I know. That’s not why I bought it.”

Arthur put it on and then simply stood, waiting as Merlin tied his shoes.

“Your hair,” Arthur suddenly said, in a much gentler voice than Merlin was used to.

“What?”

“Your hair, it’s—sort of curly. Messy. And it’s longer, too, it’s almost covering your ears.”

Merlin reached up and tugged at his hair, twisting it in his fingers. “I guess so.”

“You just look different,” Arthur said, breaking the strange tension that had filled the room. “I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

“We can figure it out later,” Merlin said, sticking his wallet in his back pocket. “We have to go now.”

The journey outside was not an easy one. First came the questions about whether this was a castle since it was so big, and then whispered observations that the ‘women of the court’ were wearing nearly nothing at all, unless they were servants, are they servants? Then the elevators, which felt too much like magic for comfort, and then the lobby and how big the windows were and how strange and otherworldly everything looked and was Merlin sure this wasn’t sorcery? Then there was the suspicious lack of horses and these boxes on wheels were going far too fast, the utter confusion when a yellow one pulled up and Merlin yanked him in beside him. Thankfully he was silent after that, too busy marvelling at how quickly everything was going by but then the streets were so smooth and the buildings were so tall and he didn’t see the forest anywhere, Merlin, where was it? Well, never mind, that’s alright, we’ll find it later when we go to look for everyone else, they must be hiding somewhere.

Merlin, already driven to the end of his rope by the incessant questions, flinched at the mention of the others. How could he tell Arthur that they were dead? That they had been dust for hundreds of years, and everything Arthur ever knew had vanished into thin air?

Merlin’s own journey had been difficult enough. He had been forced to take a long, slow path to where he was today, through hundreds of lifetimes that didn’t feel like his own. He had seen Camelot and other civilizations waste away to nothing, fade into myth, and the pain of being the only remnant of a life he had fallen in love with was made harder by the unbearably sluggish way time moved. He had been alone for so long, until the ache that slowly hardened his bones and mind was all that was left and he calcified, watching lives fail and others be born without feeling it.

And now he was faced with other side of this, being torn from the rich tapestry that had been Arthur’s life and stitched carelessly into another, the only seam that remained the same being Merlin himself.

_None of us can change our destiny, young warlock._

Merlin drew in a sharp breath at Kilhgharrah’s knowing voice, and was still half in a dream when the cabbie punched the brakes, slamming Merlin into the front seat. His side flared with pain and Merlin clutched his ribcage.

“God,” he groaned, and paid the cabbie without looking up from the seat.

“Merlin.”

“What?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, who was indeed tinged green, and opened the door hastily. He had barely pulled Arthur out of the car, the cabbie already eagerly squealing away when he threw up on the pavement, narrowly missing Merlin’s shoes. Merlin sighed.

“Come on. I live on the eleventh floor.”

Arthur was already gaping up at the apartment building. “You—you live here? Have you spent all the time I’ve been gone saving money?”

“I live in a room on the eleventh floor,” Merlin said, trying desperately not to make fun of him and motioned for Arthur to follow him inside. It was another struggle to coax him into the elevators since Arthur was still unsure about them, and he sat on the floor in order to ‘get better bearings, Merlin, as you would be if you knew what you were doing,’ and it was with great relief Merlin finally locked the door to his apartment with Arthur inside.

“We made it,” Merlin said, leaning his head against the door with heady relief sweeping through him. “They won’t find you. And I seriously doubt they will find me.” 

Arthur was sitting on the couch, staring at Merlin’s apartment with a sense of awe. “Why did we have to leave the infirmary?”

Merlin turned around. “I was worried.”

“About what?”

Merlin walked unevenly towards Arthur and sat down next to him. “I thought...I thought maybe we should be alone while I explain what’s going on. That it might be easier if it was just me.”

“Okay...” Arthur said. “But you still haven’t explained what’s going on, and I’m sitting here looking like an idiot in a dress.”

Merlin licked his lips. “Arthur, what do you remember?”

“From what?”

“Everything. I’m asking about—“ Merlin made a vague gesture with his hand— “everything. I want to know what you remember happening before the lake.”

Arthur frowned. “Morgana,” he said. “She attacked that night at Camlann.”

“Yes.”

“We were fighting. We were losing. I was surrounded, and then there was that sorcerer standing at the top of the hill, and he blew them all back from me. He saved my life. Then I remember light, dawn breaking, and...Mordred.”

“Yes,” Merlin said again, his jaw tightening. “Mordred.”

“He—” Arthur pressed against his side. “He stabbed me,” he said harshly, his words knifing through the quiet air. “Mordred stabbed me. And I killed him.”

“Yes,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur glanced up at him. “And then you were there. And you—” Arthur broke off and stared at the ground, his eyes flickering. “You...”

“What did I do, Arthur. Do you remember?” Merlin’s ribs were still hurting but he could barely feel it, his eyes were busy tracing over every minute expression Arthur made. He was torn between thinking what a miracle Arthur was, the ordinary miracle of living and breathing and fearing his answer to Merlin’s question.

“You did magic,” Arthur said at last, and the word was like blood underneath skin, full of accusation and pain and betrayal, bruising Merlin. He nodded.

“You can do magic,” Arthur whispered. “All this time, All those years. All those lies...” Arthur said, tasting the bitter word on his tongue. “And you did it for me. That’s what you said. You said you were protecting me. You never sought any credit, you let me think you were something utterly different from what you are, you saved my life probably more times than I can count. And you let me think you were nothing but a servant.”

Merlin’s face was twisted with grief and he looked down at his own lap. “I know.”

Arthur shook his head. “I—I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me. You may have been my servant but we were friends. I know we were.”

Merlin managed a derisive laugh and Arthur drew back. “I wanted to tell you so many times. From the minute we met, when you were—”

“Swinging a mace at your head,” Arthur finished, his eyes distant. “You cheated. You told me.”

“Yes. And every moment after that. For ten years. You told me everything, and I—I wanted—” he broke off suddenly, unable to finish.

“You wanted to tell me too. You told me, that last night. You said you didn’t want me to have the burden of knowing something like that.”  

“I also didn’t want to have my head chopped off for saving your life, so that may have been a factor.”

Arthur didn’t smile. “You were afraid of my father. And you were right to fear him, he would have killed you without a moment’s thought. And when I became king, you were afraid of me too.” His tone was tinged with bitterness.

Merlin leaned forward, thought better of it, and leaned back again. “No,” he said. “I was never afraid of you.” He burned with the need to say more, that he had considered it a million times and always come to the same conclusion, that it wasn’t worth it, that the king of Camelot would be reduced to hiding his servant from his own laws and the corruption and outrage it would cause among the people if they were ever caught would more than pay them out for it.

Neither of them moved and neither of them spoke, both of them thinking about a colourful life that was left far behind. Silence stretched out between them, ancient and fragile and broken, stained glass painted with memories that would pull them together and push them apart for as long as they had breath in their bodies. Opposite sides of the same coin, always facing away, running parallel to each other, never to turn.


	4. Dolente

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Merlin said. It felt strange to speak. “You can sleep on my bed, Arthur.” He said his name like it was wine on his lips, exquisite and slow, turning over the edges of it in his mouth. He almost didn’t want to let Arthur out of his sight, half terrified that he would wake up in the morning and he would be alone in his apartment again.

Arthur merely nodded, exhausted from the emotional and physical turmoil that had happened in a single day. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Can you get me a basin so I can wash?”

Merlin almost laughed, reining it back at the last minute so all it became was a slow grin. He cleared his throat. “Actually, you can just take a showe—I can run you a bath. And teach you how to do it, because I’m not your servant anymore.”

Arthur sighed, all the suffering of royals who had to learn how to do their own chores contained within it. “I know how to run a bath, Merlin, but it’ll take forever to get the water warm enough, and I don’t feel like starting a fire.”

“Just follow me.”

Arthur groaned but obeyed, following Merlin into the bathroom, where he turned the tap and let the water run.

“See?” Merlin said, gesturing to it. “You let it fill up with water, hot as you want, and then you turn it off. Simple as that.”

Arthur was staring at it with wide eyes. “Sorcery,” he breathed.

“No,” Merlin said patiently. “Science. There have been—many advances since you were last here, Arthur. Magic doesn’t exist anymore. This is science. I can show you how it works later, so you can understand, but not tonight. Just take a bath tonight.”

Arthur turned towards Merlin. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Arthur looked at him for a long moment before nodding and taking off his jacket with the air of a man about to go to war.

“Help me get this off, will you?” Arthur asked, pointing to the hospital gown. Merlin stepped forward and turned him around, untying the knot at his neck and the small of his back.

For a moment, as the cloth slid between his fingers, it was another night in Camelot. Arthur had just come back from patrol, ordered Merlin to make up a bath, and stood still as he undressed him. There was a crackle of fire just a few feet away, the stone was cold beneath his feet. Abandoned dinner dishes were left on Arthur’s bed for Merlin to tend to. The sky was dark outside the windows and both their legs were aching from sitting on a horse all day, and Arthur leaned back into Merlin’s touch just the slightest bit because they both knew he was too exhausted to stand up straight.

The hospital gown fell to the floor.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, abruptly bringing Merlin back into present day and slid into the bath with the water still running.

“Wow,” Arthur said with surprise. “It’s really hot.” Merlin stifled a smile. “I’ll be outside if you need me. My room is the first room on your left across the living room, but I’ll help you when you’re out.”

“Will you—”

“I’m _not_ dressing you. Body wash is the green bottle and shampoo for your hair is the pink bottle. Don’t do anything stupid, and try not to drown yourself.” Merlin walked out the door, glancing at Arthur as he did so, and shut it behind him.

It took Arthur considerably longer to take a bath than it usually did, partly because he was so fascinated by everything, partly because he tried to drink the shampoo. When he did finally come out with a towel around his waist it was to find Merlin asleep on the couch.

Arthur paused. He was curled up into a pillow, a blanket flung over himself. His dark hair was curling at the nape of his neck and around his ears and he looked as young as Arthur had ever seen him, worry in his unlined face softened by dreamless sleep. He was still wearing the same sweater and jeans, and one of his hands was curved out to the floor. The dim lamp cast shadows over his face.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered but nothing happened, Merlin only twitched and a soft moan escaped his mouth. 

Arthur walked down the hall, relying on his memory of Merlin’s directions to find a small, neat bedroom just to his left. He fell into bed without further ado and Merlin’s scent rose all around him, entangling him until it felt as though Merlin was lying next to him. Arthur immediately relaxed, reveling in the feel of a soft mattress, and fell asleep dreaming about a young warlock with haunted eyes.  

The night was dead silent. Unfamiliar hours ticked murkily away, and it was in the small hours before dawn when Arthur was woken by a strangled yell.

Arthur toppled out of bed, all the training he had ever undergone screaming at him to grab a sword that wasn’t there and he threw the door open, stumbling towards the living room. He went down the hall blindly, feeling for an opening, and another bloodcurdling shout erupted just a few metres away from him.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, panicked now, feeling for anything, any way to get to him. The hall finally ended and he tripped into the sofa, feeling a soft brush of skin as he fell to his knees, and when he had righted himself, panting, Merlin’s outline was still lying on the couch.

Every muscle in his body was locked to the point of pain. His eyes were squeezed shut but his back was arching up and his hands were flexing, his collarbone and tendons in his neck standing out like wires, and sweat pasted his hair to his forehead. As Arthur watched, stunned, garbled words escaped Merlin’s mouth with fear grating in his voice and his lips parted, gasping for air.

“My God...Merlin—Merlin!”

Merlin moaned, his hands pushed against Arthur’s arm, and Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. _“Merlin!”_

Merlin’s eyes opened and for a brief moment time was suspended as he stared at Arthur, who looked back, petrified, still clutching him like a lifeline. And then Merlin was slumping back, his hand was fumbling for Arthur’s, who couldn’t seem to let go of him.

“It’s okay,” Merlin said, still breathing hard. He shut his eyes again. “Just a dream. Just a dream,” he murmured.

“How do I turn on the light,” Arthur asked hoarsely.

Merlin reached back and flicked the lamp on, flooding the apartment with light. He looked even worse with the lamp glowing next to him; his colour was feverishly high and sweat was glistening on his temples and pooling in the dip of his collarbone. He pulled Arthur’s hand away from his shoulder and opened his eyes again, hazy and unfocused. “It’s okay.”

Arthur’s hand was still on Merlin’s stomach, feeling the thready beat of his heart pulse through his body, his abdomen rising and falling with his shaky breaths.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur said, pulling Merlin upright so he could sit next to him.

“It was— _watch the ribs_ —just a nightmare,” Merlin answered, trying to regain steady speech. “I get them all the time.”

“That’s a nightmare?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, unable to summon the strength to say much more. He sank next to Arthur, who still had a hand on his shoulder, presumably to keep him upright. “Nothing stops them. No spell, no remedy. I’m used to them now.”

“What’re they about?”

“Everything. I’ve seen horrible things. Much has happened since you have left and I have seen it all, all that suffering, all that death. Nightmares are...part of the bargain. A small part.”

Arthur stared at him, unable to reconcile the young man staring up at the ceiling with the ancient voice he had, the raw pain etched in every feature. This was not his Merlin. This was not the Merlin he left. His Merlin didn’t have nightmares, didn’t wake screaming every night. He didn’t look at Arthur as though he were all that he had left, and Arthur was about to release him and go back to bed when a small voice spoke in his mind.

 _Or maybe_ , the voice said, _This is how Merlin always was. You forget, Arthur. You have never seen this side of him before. Part of him broke during the long years he protected you, and the idiot that stumbled around in your wake is not who he was. He is powerful, committed to your protection, ruthless to those who threatened you. This is not the young boy who came into Camelot and challenged you. This a dark man who has learned the meaning of duty, who has done everything against his nature in order to save your life, and only yours._

 _Gwen_ , Arthur thought fleetingly, achingly, and then it was gone. He looked back at Merlin, who was still  sitting with his head looking up at the ceiling. His slender frame had almost sunk into the couch itself. The pain in his face was waning, leaving only exhaustion behind.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. Merlin laughed tiredly. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I don’t know. I’m just sorry.”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“How long has this been...”

“Happening? Years. Decades. I’ve tried everything but nothing’s worked. And it’s not exactly a turn-on when you’ve just slept with someone and you wake screaming in their bed, or my own. They leave pretty quick after that, hence why I live alone.”

“When you’ve just—what?”

“Slept with someone.” Merlin opened one eye and sighed at Arthur’s dumbfounded expression. “Sex, Arthur. Honestly. You thought I was still going to be a blushing virgin a thousand years after you’d gone?”

“Can’t believe someone actually slept with you, that’s all.”

“Shut up.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Merlin tracing aimless patterns on his own leg. The night was long and the cluck—is that what it was? Merlin called it something like that—was ticking calmly. Merlin’s head lolled, dipping against Arthur’s shoulder but Arthur was too far gone to care, sleep was lapping at him again, pulling him under...

Morning arrived slowly, with grey skies and pale sunlight dribbling through the window. Arthur woke long after the sun had risen. It took a moment for him to try to stretch, wondering why he was so overheated before realizing that the pressure he felt was Merlin lying next to him. Arthur froze. Merlin’s sweater had pulled up, showing a strip of stomach and a white bandage wrapped around his ribcage. His arm was flung over Arthur’s stomach, which made sense, because his arm was wrapped around Merlin’s waist. His skin was still feverish, which accounted for Arthur feeling as though he was on fire but he was clearly comfortable.

Arthur gently disengaged himself from Merlin, who murmured and sighed, and Arthur was just about to sneak back to the bedroom and pretend he had never fallen asleep when Merlin woke, yawning.

“Morning, Arthur,” he said, his words slurring together and he propped himself up, tugging his sweater back down and running a hand through his wild hair. “Sorry. Didn’t think I was going to fall asleep.”

“’S fine,” Arthur muttered.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“I would have, if I wasn’t lying next to someone who was burning hotter than a bonfire.”

Merlin snorted. “Just leave it alone next time that happens. Nightmares are a constant, and I’ve dealt with them alone for long enough. It stops after a while. And we have more important things to discuss anyway.”

 “Like what?”

Merlin frowned at him. “Arthur, your whole life...the life you’ve known for as long as you’ve been alive is gone. I am all that’s left of it, and I don’t think you’ve quite come to that conclusion yet.”

It was like someone had spilled acid in his blood. “Gwen,” Arthur said, blinking. “Leon. Gwaine. Percival.”

Merlin’s eyes were filled with sadness. “Yes.”

“I’ll never see them again.”

“No. They’ve been gone for a long time.”

“Camelot.”

Merlin looked down. “Legends, now. Myth, or very close to it. There isn’t much left other than what I talk about at work.”

“Everyone I know is dead,” Arthur said. It was an impossible thing to comprehend and Arthur struggled to wrap his head around it, that every childhood friend and king and servant he had ever laid eyes on hadn’t breathed air in over a thousand years. That he was the only one left, the only one allowed to come back. “You’re right. I don’t understand yet.”

Merlin stood up, crossing his arms. “I think it’s best you stay here for now. Don’t go outside. It’s bound to be overwhelming.”

Arthur merely nodded, too stunned to collect himself or even give Merlin an order now.

 _Not your servant_. Gwen’s voice spoke in his head, disapproving, and bizarrely Arthur had keep himself from grinning. What was the matter with him?

“I’m going to make tea,” Merlin said. “Then we’ll talk.”

Arthur sat down dumbly and watched Merlin clatter around the kitchen, not understanding anything he was doing. Not that he would have understood before how Merlin got his work done but—

“Wait,” Arthur said, and Merlin paused. “All those chores I gave to you. The armor I made you polish, all the extra stuff you got when you ticked me off, or spent a day at the tavern—”

Merlin laughed. “First of all, I never went to the tavern. That was the only thing Gaius could ever think of when it came to hiding where I really was and you went around looking for me, which led you to believe I was a raging drunk when the only time I had a drink was when you were with me.”

_“What?”_

Merlin shrugged. “I was busy trying to save your miserable neck. Didn’t have time for the tavern.” Arthur stood up, indignation radiating from every pore. “And you let me think that you were a drunk when you were saving my life this entire time?”

“After it happened once it was just easier to let you think it. Most of the time I didn’t even have to say it, you just assumed that’s where I’d been and gave me something else to clean. And before you ask, yes, I used magic for my chores. Mostly for polishing, because I hated it. I usually cleaned the floors without it. I used it for laundry, though. You were always a mess after a feast, and usually drunk, which meant there was a lot of food spilled down your front. I used to measure how much work I’d have to do based on how drunk you came into your chambers afterwards.”

Arthur stood there, gaping at Merlin’s lopsided grin. “You’re unbelievable.”

Merlin shrugged. “I am  the most powerful warlock to walk the earth, Arthur. You’ll forgive me if I used it to make cleaning your trousers a little easier.”

He turned back to his tea. “I assume you want some?” Arthur didn’t answer, but Merlin made an extra cup anyway.

 _It’s second nature now_ , Arthur realized. _He’s so used to picking up after me that he just does it without being asked._

Merlin gave the cup to Arthur and stepped back. “Drink it, it’s good.”

_The orders are new._

“Stop constantly telling me what to do,” Arthur grumbled, lifting the cup to his lips. “It’s humiliating.”

“Come back from the dead a few hundred years earlier next time and I won’t have to,” Merlin said, raising his eyebrows. The messy hair was really getting ridiculous.

Merlin watched as Arthur sipped suspiciously at the cup and then relaxed into it. “Good, right?” Merlin asked. Arthur gave a grudging nod. “Good.” Merlin walked forward and sat down opposite Arthur on the coffee table, wincing at his sensitive ribs. “So. What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, I’ll start with Gwen. She was a brilliant queen, missed you as much as I did after you were—”

“No,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear about them. I don’t want to hear about any of them.”

“Why not?”

“They’re dead, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice cracked. “They’re gone, and our worry right now shouldn’t be about them, it should be about right now. The last thing I should be doing is spending more time in the past than I have to.”

Merlin’s eyes searched his, hands still clutching that stupid cup. “You’re right,” he said at last. “If you don’t want to dwell on it than we won’t.”

Arthur nodded. “I think we have something to attend to anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“Clothes. Merlin, I can’t wear your jeans.”

Merlin gagged on his tea. “Did you try? After I told you they wouldn’t fit?”

“Of course I did.”

“On God, Arthur, I have a limited amount of jeans I like and if you’ve wrecked any of them I will throw you back into that forsaken lake.”

“Jeans,” Arthur scoffed. “Pathetic. I want my chainmail, my cloak back.”

“I’m going out today and getting you jeans. If anyone would know your size it’d be me,” Merlin muttered, and gave Arthur a last glare before slamming into the bathroom and locking it behind him.

The spray from the shower was practically at boiling point after draining Arthur’s bath, and Merlin shivered as he stepped in. Last night’s nightmare had been no better or worse than any of the others he had had of late and it felt as though his skin was tainted, like only the water would rinse the remains of it from his mind. Nor had it helped to find Arthur shaking him awake, face white and horrified, and it had taken a great deal of self-restraint to keep from telling him everything, that what he dreamt about was not the horrors of modern war or a mother screaming for her child, it was Camelot. The past few nights had been Camelot, whether it was Kilgharrah burning the lower town alive or the crunch of Agravaine’s body as he hit the ground or Morgana’s terrible voice as she shrieked for his death, driven further insane by the sight of him. Everything he had seen, and still what haunted him was the oldest horrors he had witnessed. The people that were nothing but myth now.

“Merlin!”

Merlin jumped and dropped the washcloth, swearing. “What?”

But the only answer was a frantic pounding on the door. Shaking his head, Merlin whipped the washcloth at the floor and stepped out of the bath, tugging a towel around his waist with unnecessary force. He threw the door open and was presented with Arthur staring at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Merlin said irritably. “What do you want?”

“Is it—is it raining inside that little room?” Arthur asked, fascinated.

Merlin tipped his head up at the ceiling and shut his eyes, ignoring the water running down from his sopping wet hair. “Yes, Arthur. It’s raining inside the little room.”

“Can I see?”

“No!” Merlin said, flushing. “I’m trying to wash, you ass, that’s why I’m standing here in a towel!”

He shut the door in Arthur’s face and stripped again, stepping back into the shower muttering unkind words about Arthur’s lack of tact and how some things never changed.

 

“Okay. When I’m gone, you’re not to touch that. Or that, because that can get really hot and you won’t know how to turn it off. No—no! Don’t stick your finger in there, you’ll get electrocuted. It means it’ll hurt, a lot, and I’m not taking you back to the hospital. There’s food in there, but I already left a meal out for you so you don’t need to open it. Yeah, I know it’s cold. It keeps the food fresh. Right. Well, you can sit there and play with the cat and I’ll turn the TV on, but that’s pretty much it. Do not touch anything that you don’t understand.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I ruled a powerful kingdom on my own for years, Merlin. I can handle a morning here.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “That’s a little debatable. Anyway I won’t be gone long, I’m just going to get you some clothes so I’ll be back as quick as I can. Be careful.”

Arthur gave a little mock bow as Merlin flashed him a quick smile and locked the door behind him. 

The cold air seemed strangely surreal after the apartment, as though Arthur was just a hallucination that would dissolve into smoke at the first sign of sunlight.  Merlin still felt like he was walking through a dream that his own desperation and subconscious had combined to make up, as though it would help, and only the still constant pain in his chest told him it wasn’t.

The shops were not nearly as busy as they usually were; the storm had caused more damage than anyone had expected and many were busy renovating. Merlin still managed to get Arthur two pairs of jeans, the cheapest t-shirts he could find and a red jacket that vaguely recalled Arthur’s old cloak, and was paying for them when he ran into Reyna’s friend from the bar. Merlin dropped his bag and the girl—Eliza— stepped back, her eyes widening.

 _Merlin,_ she signed in surprise. _I thought you were still in hospital?_

 _Hey Eliza. I heal quickly,_ Merlin signed, shrugging. She eyed him doubtfully. _Didn’t look like that when they were wheeling you and that other guy into the ambulance. Reyna thought you were dead. And I was surprised that you weren’t._

Merlin reddened, grimacing at the prospect of being dragged into an ambulance in front of the entire bar. _Just a couple of broken ribs. Nothing to worry about_.

 _Right,_ Eliza signed, still suspicious. _Well, I’m glad you’re doing better. Reyna was terrified, I don’t even know how she got in to see you. I thought it was supposed to be family members only. How’s the guy you pulled out doing?_

_He’s doing fine. Better than I am, actually, no serious injuries. I guess his boat capsized, and the storm came on pretty quickly. They never found the boat._

_Reyna said you knew him. And that he was hot,_ Eliza signed.

Merlin blinked, a familiar irritation pricking at him. _I don’t know if I’d say that._

Eliza grinned, the first real smile he had seen from her unfurling on her face. _Well, there’s no accounting for taste. I prefer the wiry, dark-haired type myself. You know, cheekbones, pretty eyes. The whole bit._

Merlin swallowed, the blush that had drained away rising back up with a vengeance. He nodded, wondering frantically what he had done the last time someone had hit on him. Or how he’d made it stop.

 _Right,_ Merlin signed feebly. _Well, I’ve got to go._

_I guess I’ll see you later then._

He nodded.

_Bye, Merlin._

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, the colour in his face brightening if that was at all possible, and watched as she walked away.

It was only after walking home that Merlin realized he’d never asked her why she was there.


	5. Fil di Voce

               

Merlin’s home was...strange. The cat he could accept, Myron seemed to like him, though he wasn’t sure if that was because of Arthur himself or the plate he had broken, inadvertently giving Myron half his lunch. The bath was incredible, and Arthur had taken another one for the sheer novelty of turning the tap on and off again. He was a little unsure about the tall cold box in the kitchen, but the teevee was fascinating, and he wasn’t sure what Merlin had been talking about when he said the stove was hot, it had felt cool when Arthur had touched it. In fact, Arthur was just working up to touching the cold box when Merlin walked in the door.

Arthur jumped back as though he had been scalded and gave a cheery little wave, but Merlin didn’t seem to notice. He dropped a small stack of clothing on the coffee table right by the couch that still had his indent in it from sleeping there the night before.

“There,” he said tightly. “Stop stretching my sweatpants and go change into these.”

“Merlin.”

“What?”

Arthur sighed and sat down on the couch, ignoring Merlin’s cringe at the sound of his sweatpants pulling just a little further. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin said, half severely and half sadly, as though he were expecting both a rebuke and for Arthur to stand up and hug him. He turned around and pulled a glass out of the cupboard.

“I just came back. You said you’ve been waiting for me this whole time, that you’ve seen alone for so long, and I’ve hardly seen you smile since you pulled me out of the lake.  Shouldn’t I be the one who’s upset? My entire life just vanished in a blink of an eye. And—all of I’ve seen of this world so far is your home, which is overwhelming enough without waking up to you screaming in the middle of the night. I just...I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” He watched the emotions pass over Merlin’s face as he spoke, the same face that had always been so impossible to read for everyone else and far too easy for him. With a pang, Arthur realized he could no longer tell exactly what Merlin was thinking. The easy camaraderie they had had so long ago felt forced now, as though both of them were balancing on a high wire and waiting to shatter the bubble they used to exist in.

Merlin inhaled slowly, his eyes making their way back up to Arthur’s face. “I am very happy that you’re back, Arthur,” he said, and Arthur felt briefly as though a tiny star had exploded inside his stomach. “I’m just worried,” he continued, not noticing the half smile on Arthur’s face at his first words. “After you died, I was told that you would come back. I’ve never lost hope. But I was also told that you would come back when Albion’s need is greatest.” His eyes fastened onto Arthur’s, young and ancient and frightened all at the same time. “Something is coming. And whatever it is, I’m not sure I can handle it.”

Arthur scoffed. “Didn’t you say that you’re the greatest sorcerer to walk this earth?”

“Yes, and I also said that magic doesn’t exist anymore, at least not where I can find it,” Merlin said urgently. “And there’s a reason for it. The swords and crossbows and maces that you remember as being the only weapons are long gone, and in their place are far worse things. Psychological tortures, affecting the mind just as badly as mandrake root did your father’s. Guns with small bullets that go so quickly you can’t see them until they’re already lodged inside your body, tearing it apart. Tear gas, tanks, missiles, never mind _nuclear_ weapons, which have only been discovered a few decades ago and already they are a threat beyond any other. There are unimaginable advances that you have not even begun to understand, the last century alone involved more bloodshed than even your father did with his genocide of magic, and I can’t—I can’t do anything about it. I can’t protect anyone anymore. And you—in your day you did everything you could to prevent even magic penetrating Camelot in any way or shape or form! How do I keep doing this, how do I keep protecting you or anyone from an unseen force that might come at any time, when I’m half out of my mind with worry about you? That your brief acceptance of who I am was only because your time left was so short? How can I know that the second I perform magic you won’t turn away with that same grief and anger I saw when your father died, despite my best attempts to save his life with magic?”

“You—”

“Yes, it was me!” Merlin was shouting now, he wasn’t even sure why he was so angry, all he knew was that all the bitterness, all the grief and the brokenness and the terror that  had been tucked away for so long was finally cracking. “I tried to save his life, and I couldn’t! I sealed my own fate when I tried, it was me who hardened your heart against magic! Against the very foundation of my existence, everything that I am, it was me who made sure you would never accept it. I did to myself, and I deserved every last second alone for what I tried that godforsaken day.”

Merlin finally turned away, shaking uncontrollably. Somewhere in his line of sight he registered the shattered glass on the floor; he must have dropped it at some point.

“Do it.” The soft voice was unexpected, Merlin had been expecting yelling at the least.

“Do what,” he said, fighting to keep control of his voice.

“Perform magic. In front of me, right now.”

Merlin wheeled around.  “What did you just say to me?”

Arthur’s face held the same stubborn expression Merlin had seen on a million different occasions, usually followed by doing something tremendously stupid. “You heard me. Perform magic right now. I know you can do it, so show me.”

“I...um—”

“Holy shit, Merlin, just light the goddamn fireplace would you?” Arthur said, breaking whatever spell he had succumbed to.

Merlin swallowed and raised his hand towards the fireplace in his wall. _“Bael on bryne.”_

Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes changed from blue to an unrecognizable gold, fading almost the second it had flared up. The dead language shaped itself around Merlin’s soft lips easily, the  familiarity that came with lifelong practice. Flames sprung up in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though it had been burning for hours. His hand slowly lowered to his side, and for a split second Arthur struggled to understand how he could have possibly missed this. This innate ability that came to Merlin as simply as breathing did, as much a part of him as the crookedness of his mouth when he smiled or anything else that made Merlin who he was. This idiot who had followed him around for a decade, taken everything Arthur had thrown at him, and all the while had been brimming with power that Arthur could never understand, much less contested if he had chosen to use it against him.

“See,” Arthur whispered, staring back at him. Dancing flames reflected in his eyes. “I am not frightened, nor am I about to drag you to the chopping block. There is no need to hide. Not anymore.”

Merlin nodded, staring down at the ground. “Okay.”

“You understand?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered, his voice harder.

“Alright then.” Arthur got up and stretched towards the ceiling, and the charged atmosphere that had pervaded the room withdrew as quickly as it had come.

Merlin hesitated. “Well. You can change into those jeans I— _Did you break a plate?”_

“What?” Arthur said. “Oh. Sorry.” 

Merlin grinned at him, his eyes a little softer, his smile a little warmer, and for a moment the boy Arthur knew shone through like a glass filled with pure water. He stepped towards Merlin and opened his mouth to say something. Then with a small shake of his head he stepped back, took the jeans, and left Merlin gazing after him.  

The rest of the day was devoted to learning about the differences between Camelot and present day. Merlin did his best not to get frustrated, or at least not to show it, but it was difficult when Arthur started comparing  cameras to the crystals of Neahtid and even worse when he began to insist on buying a crossbow for protection. Currency was another problem Arthur struggled with; the difference between sovereigns and the thin plastic card in Merlin’s wallet was something that had to be painstakingly explained several times. The only mitigating factor Arthur had during Merlin’s long—and as he saw it, unnecessary—lecture about processed sugar was Myron, who seemed to like Arthur’s lap.

When Merlin had at last seen fit to stop, mostly due to Arthur’s obsession with the orange cat, it was past dinnertime and Arthur immediately asked after it.

“Alright. It’s not going to be much because I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, but I can make something up.”

“Grocery shopping?”

“We went over this, Arthur. The shop stores food and we can buy it, usually enough at a time for a week or two.”

“Oh, right.”

Merlin came back a little while later balancing two plates and Arthur ate quickly, too focused on the food to concern himself with the channel Merlin had switched the TV to. It was only after he finished eating that he noticed Merlin was hanging onto every word, fork abandoned on a still partly full plate.

“Are you going to eat that?”

“No.”

Arthur took the plate. “What’s going on?”

Merlin shook his head, aghast. “A volcano just erupted earlier today. They think the death toll is already up to two hundred thousand, and that’s not accounting for the missing or the injured. Apparently it hadn’t shown any signs, no restlessness, no previous eruptions, no anything. It just...happened.”

Arthur frowned. “What does that mean?”

Merlin sighed. “It means it came out of nowhere. That there’s no scientific way to explain why it chose now to erupt.”

“You’re worried.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’m very worried.”

 

Arthur slept on the couch that night. Merlin claimed that it was his apartment and just because Arthur had come back from the dead it didn’t mean he deserved special treatment, and Arthur retorted that he was the king of Camelot and deserved special treatment whether Merlin thought so or not, which earned him a glare and some ill-mannered mumbling.

It was just past one o’clock when the screaming started. Arthur bolted upright at the first yell, and by the second he was trying to untangle his legs from the sheets, senselessly shouting for Merlin. He came bursting into the bedroom to find the same scene he had found the night before, Merlin, still asleep, with his hands twisting in the sheets and his entire body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as hard as he had earlier, and this time Merlin woke gasping for air and pulling Arthur down. His eyes were blank with terror, moving around the room as though looking for something hiding in the shadows. “Please—Arthur—he knows, he knows I have magic, I don’t want to kill him, Arthur, please—”

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” Arthur said loudly, scrambling for anything to say.

“He knows I have magic!” Merlin was yelling again, his grip was tightening on Arthur’s arm and his eyes still couldn’t focus. “He’s going to tell Morgana, Arthur, he’ll tell Morgana if I don’t kill him, please don’t make me kill him, I don’t want to...” his voice broke with a dry sob. He was shaking and his fingernails were making small crescent marks on Arthur’s wrist now.

“Merlin—” Arthur grabbed him and dragged him, kicking, towards himself. _“Merlin, you’re dreaming!”_

He forced Merlin to look up at him and miraculously, his eyes cleared and his hold slowly loosened. He stared at Arthur, who was holding Merlin up as though he couldn’t let go.

“A...Arthur.”

“You were dreaming. Morgana’s gone, no one knows you have magic. You’re not going to die.”

Merlin took in a great breath and drew his knees in towards his chest, letting Arthur go. Perspiration was sticking to the nape of his neck and tear stains marked his face. “S-should’ve just l-let me work through it on m-my own.”

Arthur gave a dry laugh. “Like anyone could sleep through that.”

“It’s not going to stop,” Merlin said. “Every—every night. It doesn’t stop.”

Arthur shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wake you up every night.”

Merlin exhaled. “You can let go now. I promise I won’t immediately have a seizure.”

“Yeah I don’t think you will, I’m holding you up because I don’t think you can properly sit up right now. And you’re hot and my hands are cold.”

Merlin shuddered and leaned back into Arthur’s touch exactly the way Arthur used to do after a long day, and for a moment he had to stop himself from pressing back into it. “Thank you,” Merlin murmured, and Arthur closed his eyes. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

The night passed slowly and Arthur didn’t leave, sitting cross-legged on the bed and listening to Merlin breathe. His dark head was still lying on Arthur’s shoulder, utterly drained. The silhouette of his slim hand was hanging over the bedside into open air, spasming as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Milky light picked out the lines of his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips. Arthur tipped his head back against the headboard, the heat that Merlin was radiating seeping into his own thin pajamas.

Panels of moonlight shifted on the wall and drew Arthur’s gaze. He couldn’t help but wonder who Merlin had been talking about, who had known of his magic. And if Merlin had really taken that final step and ended a life. Arthur’s jaw tightened as the intrusive thought slipped through the cracks in his mind; the Merlin he knew could not have killed a man, not in desperation and not in cold blood no matter what the man knew about him. But the man lying partially upright in the bed beside him, his throat still hitching from the terror of a nightmare he couldn’t escape, it was him Arthur was unsure about. The longer he spent in this world the more Merlin captivated him, drew his attention like a magnet, like a dead body that was always hovering just within his line of sight. Merlin had never told him everything, the events of the last couple days proved that, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more, but it was still Merlin that he thought about in the lazy hours of the day. The static in his brain always gave way to him, to the small details he had never noticed before and the big things he had never bothered to find out.

And between that, between Merlin making a constant and unwanted appearance in the back of his subconscious was Gwen. Sometimes it was a colour as rich as a dress she used to wear. A scent like her hair after a bath. A smile almost as sweet as hers had been, or the strain of worry she tried so hard to hide when he left for a patrol. Everywhere he went her ghost followed, and as logically as Arthur knew that she could not come back the same way he had, another part of him couldn’t stop insisting that if he just looked a little harder or a little longer, he would find her stepping out from behind an unseen corner.

Arthur bowed his head in grief and waited for dawn to break.


End file.
